


The Little Things Make All The Difference

by RoverMaelstrom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Abuse, Angst, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoverMaelstrom/pseuds/RoverMaelstrom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prophecy never spread very far. The media never got wind of the true events surrounding the end of the First Wizarding War. Albus Dumbledore is heralded as the savior of the wizarding world and Harry Potter is just another war orphan, left with his abusive relatives. Lots and lots of angst. Rated M for graphic violence, abuse, and likely sexual interactions later on. AU in which the events of the First Wizarding War are *just* different enough to provide a very different outcome for everyone involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ok! This is my first fanfic, folks! :D It's not been betaed yet, so there may be minor errors that I missed during my own editing process. Please, send me feedback and questions! The more I know, the better I can make the story! Also - as this goes on, there will be more tags/archive warnings added, most likely. However, at the moment, those warnings aren't necessary, so I'm not going to tag those things until they are.
> 
> *facepalms* Wow. Ok. Kinda smacking myself because I forgot, but, in case anyone was worried - I'm not J.K. Rowling and thus I own none of the recognizable things here, no copyright infringement intended, just enjoy the story. ^.^

“ _If an action has more than one possible outcome, then whenever that action is taken, the universe splits, budding new branches for each possible outcome. This holds true even if no action is taken, for the decision to take or not take action is but the outcome of a previous action.”_

    * Many Worlds Theory




 

**Major Divergences from Timeline 368B12, also known as Canon Timeline**

 

**1977**

June – Lily, James, Remus, Sirius, Peter, and Severus graduate from Hogwarts. Severus chooses to pursue further studies in potions and leaves the country for three years.

**1980**

January – Severus Snape returns to England, is hired by Dumbledore, and begins secretly working with the Order while outwardly remaining neutral.

February – Sibyll Trelawney makes her prophecy. No one but Dumbledore is aware of it and he decides to keep it that way.

May – Both Alice Longbottom and Lily Potter's pregnancies develop extensive complications. The relationship between the Marauders and Severus thaws due to Severus's lifesaving potions and the men accept each other, becoming genial acquaintances if not bosom friends.

June 1st – The Potters and the Longbottoms go into hiding separately, in order to protect the now extremely vulnerable Alice and Lily. Peter Pettigrew is chosen as the secret keeper for the Potters and Mad Eye Moody is chosen for the Longbottoms. Dumbledore performs both charms.

June 2nd – Peter Pettigrew passes on the location of Lily and Jame's safehouse to Lord Voldemort, who chooses not to eliminate them because he is under the assumption that they will emerge once the baby is born, so to attack now would expose Pettigrew as a spy for little gain.

July 30th – Neville Longbottom is born. Dumbledore tells Alice and Frank about the prophecy.

July 31st – Harry Potter is born. Dumbledore tells James and Lily about the prophecy.

August 7th – Sirius, Remus, and Peter go to meet Harry. James tells them about the prophecy.

August 8th – Pettigrew passes the information about the prophecy to Lord Voldemort.

August 14th – Lord Voldemort launches a two pronged attack against the Order. A large number of Death Eaters attack a Muggle village, seemingly intent on wiping it out. The Order responds and a major battle ensues. Casualties of Note: Sirius Black, Frank Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew, and Bellatrix Lestrange are almost killed. They all survive but are hospitalized for months. Karkaroff loses his left hand and Lucius Malfoy's right leg is badly mangled, leaving him with a lifelong limp, but both escape the battlefield that night. Arthur Weasley loses his right foot and Mad Eye Moody loses part of his nose and and has his right ear shredded. The Death Eaters Barty Crouch Jr, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Walden McNair are killed, along with Order members Benjy Fenwick, Caradoc Dearborn, and Marlene McKinnon.

While the Death Eaters and the Order fight, Lord Voldemort goes to Godric's Hollow alone to dispose of Harry. He is delayed by James, who he had expected to be with the rest of the Order. The delay allows the alarm spells time to notify Dumbledore, who arrives in Harry's nursery and grabs Harry just as the magical reaction that destroyed Voldemort's first body happens. Dumbledore realizes what happened, but wishing to spare the infant Harry from the inevitable media circus that would ensue, he takes claim for defeating Lord Voldemort himself. The only people who are told the real story are Alice Longbottom and Remus Lupin, who pass the information on to Frank and Sirius when their injuries permit.

August 20th – Harry is left in the care of the Dursleys, as his godfather is still severely injured and cannot take him in.

# Prologue

Albus Dumbledore was tired. The media had been hounding him ceaselessly for the past two months, ever since it was revealed that Voldemort had been destroyed. He'd already publicly announced that he intended to stay on as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, despite the attempts to convince him to run for Minister. He didn't have time to be the Minister of Magic. No, he had bigger fish to fry.

The moment when he apperated into the Potter's house in Godric's Hollow seemed burned into his memories. He only had to close his eyes to feel his sick fear that he was too late to save the savior morph into an agonizing pain that cut off suddenly, one of those pains that lasts only a second but feels like it went on for a hundred years. He could see the disintegrating form of Voldemort's body falling to pieces even as the blast wave threw him back through the walls of the small house, feel his bones break against the rubble, smell the acrid scent of the explosion lingering in his nostrils. He still had no idea how he managed to scoop up the baby, now screaming in pain and fear, and apparate away before any of the local muggles appeared on the scene. All he could remember was stumbling through the front gate of Hogwarts and collapsing. When he awoke in the hospital wing after some hours of blessed unconsciousness, he knew something was wrong. At the time, he didn't know what, but in his bones he could feel that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

The wizarding world celebrated loudly over the fall of the Dark Lord. Even muggle news sources picked up stories about the celebrations, speculation running rampant about the cause of it all. Reporters camped outside Hogwarts, eager to catch Dumbledore for statements about anything at all. After all, he _was_ the savior of the wizarding world, the only wizard to ever take on the Dark Lord and emerge triumphant.

Dumbledore sighed. Even though he was convinced that he had made the right decision, his choice still weighed heavily on his mind. When he awoke in the hospital wing, he was surrounded by Order members desperate to know what had happened. He knew instinctively that spreading the truth of the matter would be the wrong choice. Already he could imagine what it would be like for the baby peacefully sleeping in the bassinet next to him if the truth got out. Bad enough to be an orphan, but to be known by every wizard, a celebrity before he was even a month old, never able to live a normal life – no, that would be unconscionable. And so Dumbledore lied. He explained the deaths of James and Lily, holding back tears. He told the assembled crowd that he arrived just as Voldemort raised his wand against the babe, how in that moment the Dark Lord was so distracted that Dumbledore was able to turn the dark power against it's bearer to destroy him. He told of the backlash that destroyed the cottage, throwing him through the wall and raining debris on the baby, slicing open his head. And he told all of this so well, so believably, that no one questioned his story.

No one, that is, except for Alice Longbottom and Remus Lupin. Of those who knew of the prophecy, they were the only ones who were still alive and relatively whole. They knew that there was something wrong with Dumbledore's story, knew that the prophecy was the only reason Voldemort had been in Godric's Hollow in the first place. To them, he told the real story, how Lily had sacrificed her life for her baby and how that sacrifice brought down the Dark Lord. They understood his reasoning for keeping quiet and swore to keep the secret so that the tiny savior could grow up with as normal a life as possible. Six days later, a patched but still battered Dumbledore left a basket on the Dursley's doorstep, content in the knowledge that this child would not be left to an orphanage but would be raised by good, solid family.

Now, after two months of healing and discreet research, he had an answer to that _feeling_ that he'd woken up with. He'd known that Tom Riddle had probed into dark places in his rise as the Dark Lord, but Dumbledore never imagined that Voldemort had been mad enough to consider what he'd obviously done. As he stood in his office, taking in the picture before him, Dumbledore was horrified. In front of him shone a physical manifestation of his inner self, mind, soul, and magic. The swirling form of his magical core, all pinks and purples and blues, mingled with the silvery-white cloud of memories and the tawny-brown of his soul stuff as it should. There were no instabilities, no weaknesses, no cracks or separations, none of the things he had expected to find when, at his wits end, he'd cast this spell looking for the cause of the wrongness he'd been sensing. No – what he saw was far worse than any instability could ever be. Mixed in with the familiar colors of his inner self was ball of black and red _something_ , attached like a tumor to his soul stuff, not mixing with the other parts but not wholly apart either. As he examined it, his hopes that it might be something, _anything,_ other than what he suspected it was were dashed. Closing his eyes and releasing the spell, Dumbledore sank down into a chair and cradled his head in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**July, 1986**

“Boy! You better get in here with that bacon on the double!”

Harry cringed as Vernon's voice echoed from the dining room. He climbed up on the low stool set in front of the stove, his small hands looking comical nested inside the much too large oven mitts. Wrapping his hands around the handle of the cast iron skillet, he started to step back down to the kitchen floor when the stool finally decided to give up the ghost. A leg snapped off and Harry fell heavily against the stove, screamed, and pushed backward, landing on the floor and sobbing, skillet and bacon overturned next to him.

All three Dursleys rushed into the kitchen. Harry scrambled backwards, grabbing for the skillet and the spilled bacon.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, the stool broke, I didn't mean to drop it!” he sobbed, his left elbow and forearm badly burned and already blistering. As the small dark haired boy hastily tried to right the mess, his cousin started whimpering.

“That was the last of the bacon, wasn't it, Da?” he whined, tears welling up in his eyes. “Harry just ruined the last of the bacon, so now I don't get any this morning!”

Vernon Dursley scowled at Harry. “Yes, it was, son. Even though, out of the goodness of my own heart, I feed him and clothe him and shelter him, the worthless little shit can't help but waste good food.”

Harry was now frantically wiping the kitchen floor, trying to clean up the bacon grease that had spattered everywhere with a ragged dishtowel as he struggled to stifle his sobs, even as his burn throbbed with every movement.

“Well, boy. Since you've ruined our breakfast, we'll just have to go out to eat this morning. I expect this kitchen to be spotless and for you to have made headway on your regular chores by the time we get back! Do you hear me, boy?” At this, Vernon took a step forward and grabbed the back of Harry's collar, jerking him upright.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon!” Harry choked out, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes and the catch out of his voice. Trying, but failing. His uncle gave him a rough shake, the dropped him again, letting the small boy collapse to the floor.

Petunia sniffed and turned on her heel back into the dining room, Dudley following close behind. Vernon spared a moment for a poisonous glare at his nephew.

“You're such a fuck up, boy. You better get your act together and get your work done before we get back, if you know what's good for you.” He turned and left the kitchen, following after his family. A minute later, Harry heard the car pull out of the driveway and head down the street. Straightening, he ran to the trashcan and pulled out all the bacon he'd dropped in it earlier, stuffing himself with the unexpected treat. Wincing at the pain in his arm, he got back to work, hoping that his when his aunt got home she'd notice how bad the burn was and do something about it.

\----

Sirius barely held himself back from growling at the officious ministry toad in front of him. “Let me get this straight. My _legally registered_ godson is currently living with muggles. Muggles who look at magic as some kind of disease, apparently, as evidenced by this response to my request to spend time with my godson. And the Ministry, in all it's wisdom, chooses to side with these...these _people_?”

The toad looked down his nose. “Yes, Mr. Black, it does. May I remind you that, for the past six years, you have been emotionally unstable and incapable of safely interacting with most adults, let alone a small child? And -” he continued, running right over Sirius's heated exclamation, “even though the Mind Healer in charge of your case has seen fit to certify that you are fit to be around people, the fact that your partner is a _werewolf_ speaks volumes against allowing you to come into contact with a small child. You are still heavily dependent on this _beast_ , even though you are no longer confined to St. Mungo's. Clearly, it is in the best interests of the child to keep him away from the dangers inherent in persons such as yourself and your... _partner_.” The toad sniffed and glared at Remus, who stood behind Sirius, watching him carefully.

At this point, Sirius did growl. The toad looked alarmed and quickly tapped the muggle letter sitting in front of him with his wand, muttered a quiet incantation, then pointed his wand up at Sirius and Remus. A jet of light shot out of it and briefly wrapped around the couple, fading almost instantly. Sirius lunged forward, grabbing for the official who was scrambling backwards, panic written on his face. Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius's torso and whispered urgently in his ear, holding him back from the white faced official. Sirius struggled for a moment then stopped, glaring at the man who was now pressed up against the wall behind his desk.

The official cleared his throat with a nervous sounding cough and spoke, “I see I made the correct decision. That spell I just cast will prevent either of you from venturing onto the property at which the boy currently resides. Don't bother trying to get around it – as a Ministry official with the Department for Child Welfare, I have every legal right to impose that restriction on those I deem at risk for ignoring the Ministry's ruling. Now, gentlemen, as there is nothing more you can do here, I suggest you leave. Now.”

The official had raised his voice at the end of his statement, prompting two security wizards to begin making their way across the crowded office towards Sirius and Remus. Sirius glared at them, turned on his heel, and stalked out, with Remus following, both clearly holding back anger. The couple strode through the Ministry in silence until they reached the foyer and crossed the anti-apparition ward line, then they both disappeared with twin cracks, prompting an annoyed look from the wizard at the reception desk.

\----

Dumbledore slumped backwards in his chair, sighing. He felt _old._ It had been six long years since the fall of the Dark Lord. Six years of living with that blot of evil inside him. Six years of being the only living Horcrux ever to exist. He'd researched the subject extensively, learning all there was to know about the dark practice and ever so carefully probing at the small piece of Voldemort inside of him. He knew what had happened, now. It was obvious. The Dark Lord had torn his soul into so many pieces that the backlash of that final spell had split it again, throwing part of it back down the path the spell had taken. It was pure bad timing that Dumbledore got his hands on Harry just as the soul fragment hit. Of course he had absorbed it, shielding the baby by accident. For something as evil as Voldemort, Dumbledore's soul, already old and somewhat tarnished, provided an infinitely more comfortable resting place than the pure goodness of a newborn baby.

Getting up, the old wizard moved aimlessly around his office. He knew what he had to do now, of course. It was his responsibility, his _duty_ to track down the other pieces of soul that Voldemort had left scattered about. After all, he was the Savior of the Wizarding World, the wizard who killed Voldemort. He might as well live up to that reputation, even if no one else was aware of how exactly he planned to do that. Settling down in another chair, he poured himself a cup of hot tea and finally let himself think about how he would destroy Voldemort once and for all, even though the task would most likely destroy him. Again, the path was clear. He had in his possession a piece of the Dark Lord's soul stuff. If he was careful, he could use it to guide him to the other pieces and thus destroy them, no matter where they were hidden. If he was careful. If he was not – well, he hoped he would notice in time, hoped he had the nerve to destroy himself before the evil leaked out, warping him into a second incarnation of the Dark Lord.

\----

Back at the flat he and Remus shared, Sirius raged. He cursed every bigoted ministry official, every preconception about werewolves, those wretched Muggles keeping his godson away from him, and himself most of all, for being too injured to take on the responsibility he had for Harry when Harry had needed him the most. Remus sat quietly and watched as Sirius did a good job of attempting to destroy the flat. Of course, the damage was minor. Everything important had long since had unbreakable charms cast over it, so except for a couple of minor pieces of furniture purchased mostly for their disposable nature, the only effect Sirius had was to thoroughly disarrange everything. At last, he raged himself out and collapsed into his lover's arms, crying silently for the loss of the godson he'd never get to see grow up.


	3. Chapter 3

**July, 1991**

Remus stared at Scrimgeour incredulously. “You can't be serious. I'm one of the best Aurors in this department! My record is spotless -”

“I assure you, I am quite serious.” Scrimgeour interrupted. He handed Remus a scroll. “Ministry Directive 897 – Adaption to Workplace Safety Regulations.”

Remus stared down at the words. This was bad. How had this gotten passed so quietly? He scanned the directive in horror. For the safety of other employees, effective immediately, it was lawful to sack werewolves without notice. Due to this termination being for the safety of others, werewolves are entitled only the severance benefits offered to employees fired for grievous misconduct. Werewolves terminated under this directory are ineligible for unemployment support. Werewolf status must be disclosed to employers either pre-hire or immediately, if currently employed. Employers may have separate benefits and wages policies in place for werewolf employees. Werewolves are not entitled to any type of mediation or challenge to changes in wages or policies. Remus closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, calming himself.

“This...this directive _allows_ for my termination, under the completely unreasonable terms you have stated. It does not _require_ it. So, I say again – I am one of the best Aurors in this department. Merlin, Rufus, you've worked with me on cases before! You know I'm good at my job! You know this department is already short-staffed! So why -”

Once again, Scrimgeour interrupted. “This is not up for discussion, Remus. I've wanted you out of this department for a long time and now that I am the head of the Auror Office, I can enforce this. You and your kind are a danger to the wizarding community and I have never understood why the law has yet to mandate that werewolves be destroyed upon creation. This...disease...could be stamped out in a few generations if only the Ministry would dedicate the necessary resources to be proactive about it.”

Remus looked down at Scrimgeour, body tensed in anger. “I never knew you felt that way, Rufus. I'm sorry to hear such bigoted opinions from such a good Auror.” Remus turned on his heel and stalked out of Scrimgeour's office, fighting the urge to shoot off a nasty hex before departing. He strode down the hallway and into the office he shared with Elphibias Jones, his partner, jerking open the door and letting it hit the wall with a bang. Elphibias looked up from his paperwork in surprise.

“Eh, what's up, Remus? Something wrong?”

“You're going to have to find a new partner, Elph. As of five minutes ago, I am no longer an Auror.” Remus ground out his answer between clenched teeth as he angrily went through his desk, throwing his personal possessions into a satchel and his case notes on top of the desk, not caring if the papers got mixed up.

“What! What happened, Remus? I know Scrimgeour talked about shaking up the department yesterday, when he was sworn in as the head, but this is insane! What cause has he got to be sacking you?” Elphibias started in surprise, upsetting his inkwell over the paperwork scattered across his desk. “Oh, bloody hell!” As he cleaned up the mess, Remus filled him in on the newest Ministry directive.

“That's the most absurd thing to come out of the Ministry in years, Remus.” Elphibias slumped backwards in his chair, massaging his temples and grimacing. “No only does Scrimgeour use this to sack one of the best Aurors around, he doesn't even thing about the ramifications of this! Hell...this is going to double our workload, at least, when it gets out. All those newly unemployed werewolves, pissed off and broke...the smuggling rings will have a field day with all the new talent coming their way. Ah, Remus...I'd say you're lucky to be out of it, though I know we'd both rather that you weren't.”

Remus finished cleaning out his desk and sighed. “I know, Elph. I don't know what the Ministry expects to accomplish by this, except to maybe spur some incident that will allow for further crackdowns. Stupid fucking bigots...” Remus trailed off, composing himself. “Ah well. Better get out of here before Scrimgeour sends something nasty to see me along. See you 'round, Elph.”

Remus shouldered the satchel and headed out the door, again resisting the urge to send something nasty through Scrimgeour's open door on the way out.

\----

He arrived home to find Sirius already there, sitting in the kitchen looking angry. “Pads? What are you doing home already?”

Sirius looked up and scowled. “Probably the same thing you're doing, Moony. That wanker Scrimgeour informed me this morning that he'd put in to have me transferred to the Office for International Auror Liaisons! I told him what he could do with that bloody transfer, and he he sent me home, saying I might feel differently tomorrow. Let me guess – he transferred you too?”

Remus sighed, slumping into a chair and summoning the coffee pot and a mug. “Worse. He sacked me.”

“WHAT?” Sirius exclaimed loudly, almost upsetting his own coffee cup. “What the bloody hell for?”

“Being a werewolf. New Ministry decree. Werewolves can be sacked without notice or benefits. And that's just the start. Pads...I don't know if I'm going to be able to find another job, not one that'll pay enough, anyway. This degree is a blanket across England.”

Sirius expounded at length on the parentage, probable personal habits, and traits of the Ministry officials who'd passed the decree. Finally, he wound down and sighed, “Fuck. You know what this means, don't you? I have to take that bloody transfer. One regular Auror salary isn't going to be enough to cover living expenses and your wolfsbane potion. That bastard! He sure didn't waste any time...Merlin, time! Oh, bloody hell!”

Remus looked puzzled at that last outburst for a moment, then understanding dawned. “Ah, yes. Harry's to be starting at Hogwarts in the fall, isn't he. And with this transfer, you may not even be in the country once he's out of those muggle's clutches. Oh Pads, I'm so sorry!” Remus drew his chair closer to his lover and and wrapped an arm around him. “We'll figure something out. You'll get to play a part in Harry's life, even if it means we have to put in a cage and take me off the wolfsbane.”

“Not gonna happen, Moony. We'll find some other way, somehow.” Sirius turned toward his lover, staring into his eyes. “I won't have you go through that ever again.”

\----

Harry concentrated on vacuuming the hallway, trying to ignore the yelling that was going on downstairs. Petunia and Vernon had been fighting for several weeks now. Orders for drills had fallen off, so money was a bit tighter than normal. What to do with Harry next year for secondary school was among the main arguments. Dudley, of course, was going to Smeltings Academy, no question about that. But as for Harry, well, there the Dursleys were stymied. Petunia had gotten several letters from the school the previous year, inquiring about Harry's health. Vernon wanted him sent to St. Brutus's, despite the cost, because it was well known that the staff there didn't ask questions or argue with the ones paying. Petunia was vehemently opposed to spending any money on Harry and bitterly berated Vernon for his priorities, pointing out that the local secondary school was so much cheaper that, for the price, Vernon should be able to keep his temper in check enough to keep more questions from being asked.

Up until this morning, Harry hadn't cared either way. Both options sounded equally horrible and he just wished that some decision would be made because, until his aunt and uncle made up, his uncle wasn't getting any and that translated into many more bruises than normal adorning Harry from his uncle's fits of temper. This morning's post, however, put a different complexion on things.

As usual, Harry had been up before anyone else, making breakfast and enjoying the brief bit of solitude before the Dursleys headed downstairs. His birthday was tomorrow and he wondered if he'd be able to sneak himself a bit of a sweet out of the pantry, since the Dursleys had plans to go to a show and he'd be alone in the house for the evening. As he pulled the bacon off the stove, setting it between some paper towels to drip and cool a little, he spotted the postman walking up to the doorstep with the day's mail. He headed around through the foyer and retrieved the mail, sorting it by recipient as he walked back to the kitchen. When he got to the last letter, he stopped in shock. For the first time in his life, there was a letter addressed to _him._ He'd immediately ripped it open, his eyes going wide at what it'd said.

By the time any of the Dursleys made it downstairs, Harry had gotten the table laid out like he normally did, with each person's mail by their plate, drinks ready to be poured, and food ready to be served. As usual, Petunia was the first person down. Harry had served her a small slice of quiche and two pieces of bacon and was in the process of pouring her orange juice when she noticed the open envelope with Harry's name on it. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, Harry pounced.

“Aunt Petunia, it's a letter from a school. They said my parents went there, that they were writing to inform me that they expected to see me in the fall. It's already been paid for – I guess my parents set it up before -” Petunia cut him off with a wave of her hand, opening the envelope and scanning the letter, her lips pursed as she read.

At that moment, Vernon trundled into the kitchen, his face displaying his usual morning fog. Harry quickly circled round the table with the coffee pot and poured his uncle's coffee, then offered him the quiche and bacon. By the time Harry was filling Vernon's cup for a second time and Vernon was beginning to dig into his breakfast, Petunia spoke.

“Vernon. We seem to have a solution as for what to do about the boy.” She spoke as if Harry wasn't even in the room, but he was used to that. He backed away quietly and busied himself washing dishes, hoping to remain inconspicuous throughout this conversation.

Vernon raised a piggish eyebrow. “Oh really?” He stopped speaking as Petunia handed the letter over to him. As he read, his face gradually darkened, going redder and redder the farther down he got. Harry, who was now putting away the clean dishes, began to move a little faster, hoping to get out of the room before his uncle exploded. Just as Harry slipped out of the kitchen, he heard Vernon's yell of “Are you insane, woman?” echo through the foyer. Out of sight, Harry quickly fled upstairs and gathered the laundry, figuring that it would be in his best interest to stay out of the way for awhile.

As Harry coiled up the vacuum cord and stowed it away in the closet, he heard Petunia storm out the door for her hairdresser appointment. Harry silently moved down the hall towards his aunt and uncle's bedroom, hoping that by the time he finished making the beds, Vernon would have left to pick up Dudley from the house of the friend he'd spent the night with. However, as he began straightening the sheets he heard his uncle's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Harry shivered and kept working, hoping that, at least, the sight of him gainfully occupied would calm his uncle's temper somewhat.

Vernon Dursley strode into the room and backhanded Harry across the face, shouting the usual rant about how Harry was abnormal, a freak, how Vernon should have dropped him off at an orphanage when he showed up on his doorstep. Harry fell to the floor and scrambled back up, going back to the bed. At this point, he knew that the best way to react was to not resist but to return to his task immediately, unless he wanted even more of a beating for “laziness”. After several more blows, each enough to knock Harry to the floor, his head was reeling and he was getting scared. He'd have bruises for several weeks from this, big ones. The Dursleys wouldn't dare let him leave the house until they healed. Vernon usually didn't go this far, not where it was visible, at least. The next blow threw him onto the bed and as he tried to get off he fell over again, his head swimming wildly. He cringed, expecting another blow, but it didn't come. He looked up at his uncle and his stomach knotted in terror. Vernon's face had an expression that he couldn't read on it, but it didn't look like it boded well for Harry. As Harry tried again to get off the bed, Vernon reached down a and pushed him back down with one meaty paw.

“You know, your aunt hasn't put out in three weeks. Part of that's you fault, you little shit. So you know what? Since it's your fault, I think you ought to remedy it.” Vernon's belt buckle snapped open and his pants dropped to the floor. Harry tried to scramble away, his mind screaming, but Vernon grabbed the back of his pants, ripping the thin fabric as he dragged the boy backwards on the bed.

Harry fought, trying desperately to escape, but it was hopeless. His scrawny, underfed frame was no match for his uncle's sheer size. He felt his underpants give way, felt his uncle's hands on his hips, and then the world mercifully went black.

\----

Vernon woke up, head pounding, to the sound of Petunia screaming. He shook his head muzzily, trying to clear it. Opening his eyes, he stared confusedly at the ceiling, trying to figure out why he was on the floor. Then the words Petunia was shrieking at him finally sunk in and his memory came rushing back.

“-can't believe this! What sort of sick, perverted thing were you doing, Vernon? How long have you been doing this? I see your eyes open! Answer me, Vernon Dursley!”

Vernon hauled himself upright and grabbed at his pants, hastily pulling them up. “Petunia, love, I don't know what came over me, I swear! I was just showing the boy what's what, smacking him around for all the tension he's caused between us, and something just snapped! I've just missed you so much, and I was so angry, and I...I just...” He trailed off as Petunia glared at him angrily.

“This settles it, Vernon. I want him out of this house and I _don't_ want to spend the money for St. Brutus's. That letter this morning said his tuition had already been paid for. I don't _care_ that it's a school for freaks, I am _not_ keeping him in this house one minute longer than I have to! Do you hear me, Vernon? I mean it!”

“Ok, ok, you're right, Petunia. He needs to go – his freakness is a bad influence. But, I didn't...I didn't actually _do_ anything, Petunia. You've got to believe me! He did that thing again, that thing he hasn't done since he was five, and knocked us both out!”

Petunia glared at him again and turned over the boy lying unconscious on the bed, bleeding into the sheets from his split lip. She shook her head. “Oh, I believe you, Vernon. You didn't do anything – no thanks to you! Get out of my sight for awhile. Go to the club, to the grocery, to the moon, I don't care, but don't come back until dinner. Give me a chance to get this cleaned up and calm down. Just remember – if this ever, _ever_ happens again, we're done. It's the boy's bad influence if it happens once, but more than that, it's yours, Vernon. And I won't have you under the same roof as my son if that's the case.” She picked up the still unconscious Harry under the arms and started dragging him toward the shower. Vernon hastily left, shaken and angry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this! I promise, I haven't forgotten. Unfortunately, real life health problems have been keeping me busy, but hopefully I'll be able to keep up with updates at a bit more reasonable pace now that some of my other obligations have finally finished. I hope yall enjoy - not too much happens in this chapter, but setting up the rest of the story, especially the points where this world doesn't jive with the cannon universe, were too important for me to pass up.

Harry came to slowly, the warm water of the shower feeling good against his scarred back. He groaned, not even trying to open his swollen eyes, just trying to remember the missing space between Vernon backhanding him and now. A washcloth pressed up against his face, scraping over his face and awakening more pain from his split lip. He cautiously cracked his eyes and was pleased that his vision seemed to be normal, or as normal as it got without his glasses, anyway.  
  
“Awake, are you, boy?” His aunt Petunia's head swung into Harry's field of vision and he saw that she was the one holding the washcloth, now smeared with what looked like his blood.  
Harry coughed. “Yes, Aunt Petunia. What happened?”  
  
Petunia shook her head. “You don't remember?” she asked, almost worriedly.  
  
“Last thing I remember is Uncle Vernon coming in while I was making the bed, looking angry. Nothing after that, Aunt.”  
  
Petunia grimaced. “Your uncle went a bit too far disciplining you. Your clothes are a bloody mess. I've already thrown them out. Now that you're awake, get yourself cleaned up the rest of the way and come downstairs.” She dropped the washcloth into Harry's hand and walked out.  
  
Harry sighed. That had been his nicest pair of trousers, too. He slowly stood, cataloging what hurt.  
  
\----  
  
When he finished washing up, he was actually fairly pleased. His head felt like it was one giant bruise, neither of his eyes would open all the way, and his lip was definitely split, but he didn't seem to have any other injuries. He toweled off, gingerly tousling his hair to keep it from dripping, and headed down the stairs, towel wrapped around his waist. He snagged his other pair of trousers and a sweater from his cupboard and changed into them as he headed into the kitchen. Petunia pointed him to a chair and set a bag of frozen peas down next to him, which he gratefully applied to his face.  
  
“Is anything broken?”  
  
“I don't think so, Aunt.”  
  
She leaned over, examining his face carefully, shining a flashlight in his eyes, and generally checking the small boy over. “Good. Leave those peas on until they defrost, then switch to the minced carrots. I think we'll do shepherd's pie tonight, so no reason not to kill two birds with one stone. When both of the bags defrost, go ahead and get the pie started, then finish the rest of your chores. I'm going out, I'll check on you when I get back, but you don't appear to be injured too seriously. Remember to keep your freak face inside, though.”  
  
With that, she scooped up her purse and marched out of the house. Harry leaned back in the chair, concentrating on his hurts, willing them to go away, and trying desperately to keep his mind off of the creeping terror. He didn't know what had sparked Vernon's latest outburst, but whatever it was, he hoped that this beating had quelled it.  
  
\----  
  
A bit over a month later, Harry cautiously stepped down from one of the London buses in Charing Cross and looked around. He consulted the paper clutched in his hand one last time, then stuffed it into his pocket and scampered over to the building proclaiming itself to be the Leaky Cauldron. He timidly stepped through the door, eyes widening at the sudden change of atmosphere. He stood frozen for a moment, then went sprawling as a large, burly wizard strode through the door and ran right into him. Harry squeaked with surprise and fear, picking himself up off the floor as he apologized for being in the way. The wizard harrumphed and scowled, continuing on to the back of the tavern. A flurry of giggles caused Harry to look over to the left of the door, where a small mob of children in muggle clothes waited. The harried wizard who was obviously in charge of the group sighed, motioning Harry over to him.  
  
“And you would be Mr. Potter, I presume?”  
  
Harry nodded quickly, hands clasped behind his back and a blush burning his cheeks. A couple of the girls in the group giggled and whispered behind their hands, not bothering to hide their derisive glances at the unkempt boy. Harry kept his hands from smoothing the front of his jumper only through force of will – it wasn't like this was new, anyway. Wearing Dudley's castoffs, too big and inexpertly taken in by Harry himself, his clothes never fit right anyway. Now, though, he looked especially out of place, wearing an overlarge, long sleeved jumper and collared shirt, even though it was the middle of August. In truth, Harry would have preferred to be in something else, but his arms and torso were so covered in bruises and welts that the Dursleys hadn't let him out without forcing the extra clothing on him.  
  
The wizard sighed and kneaded his forehead. “Finally. You're twenty minutes late, you know. Nevermind the excuses, you're here now, and we can get started.” The wizard clapped his hands together, raising his voice and catching the attention of the group.“Children! Now that Mr. Potter has finally graced us with his presence, we can begin! Today will be, for most of you, your first trip into a purely wizarding space. Pay attention! This world is very different than the muggle world you've all grown up in and I don't want to have to un-charm any silly little bugger who gets himself hexed. We'll be headed to Gringotts first, to change your muggle money over, and then on to acquire school supplies. Stay with the group, don't wander, don't touch things. Those of you who aren't first years, do try to remember to set the example. Come along!”  
  
With that, the wizard strode off, trailing the chattering mob of children in his wake. Harry followed along at the tail of the group worriedly. The second letter, detailing this meeting, had included a post script that he would be receiving funds from his parent's account suitable for acquiring his school supplies when he met with the group. Harry wasn't quite convinced that would happen, though – having money actually handed to him, to use for himself, wasn't a thing that had ever happened.  
  
\----  
  
When the group reached Gringotts, the wizard directed the children to line up in the money changing queue. After he got them all sorted, he spotted Harry hovering at his elbow and gave another sigh. “What is it you need, Mr. Potter?”  
  
Harry swallowed, then answered, “Please, sir, the letter said that there should be money waiting here for me from my parent's account.”  
  
The wizard scowled, then dug through his folder, muttering to himself. At last, he pulled out a piece of paper, handed it to Harry, and pointed to a different queue. “Hand this to the goblin behind that desk, then get back over here. No troublemaking!”  
  
Harry nodded and quickly scooted off to the queue, trying to be as small and inconspicuous as possible. When he reached the head of the queue, he handed the letter over to the goblin timidly, eyes wide. The goblin perused the letter, staring at it through a small gold monocle, and then turned and picked up a sack. Plunking it down on the desk, he pushed a parchment and quill across to Harry. “Sign this withdrawal slip, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry scrawled his name quickly and took the sack, scampering back over to the group. By now, most of them were done changing their money and were talking avidly amongst themselves, examining the wizarding money. Harry clutched the bag to himself and leaned up against the wall, at the edge of the group, small and practically unnoticed. He was proud of that skill – it had saved him plenty of trouble in the past, from the kids at his public school. As the last of the others re-joined the group, the teacher did a quick headcount, almost missing Harry, then ushered the children out the door.  
  
\----  
  
At the end of the day, Harry was exhausted. They'd gone through all the shops the first years needed for their supplies, pulling their bobbing trunks behind them. The wizard in charge of the group had charmed them to float a couple of feet off the ground, warning the children to be careful and not knock into anything. At last, they'd cleared the final shop and returned to the Leaky Cauldron. The wizard clapped his hands for attention. “Listen up, children! This year, we'll be taking your trunks to the express for you straight from here. Next year, you'll have to manage yourselves, but there's no need to inflict potions ingredients and owls on your unsuspecting parents before any of you have a clue what to do with them. You'll find them waiting on platform 9 ¾ tomorrow when you arrive. Please don't forget to claim them, or you'll have a very uncomfortable first few days. Your parents should be arriving shortly to retrieve you all. Make sure all of your things are in your trunks and leave them over here, please!”  
  
Harry stood to the side as the rest of the kids left their trunks in the side room that the wizard had indicated, looking at the handful of change in his hand worriedly. The bus breakdown earlier that day that had caused him to be late had ended up causing him to take a second bus, eating into the fare that his Aunt had pressed into his hand that morning. He hadn't expected the money from his parents not to be regular money, so he hadn't been too worried, but now it looked like he wouldn't have enough fare to get back home that evening. Sighing, he moved his trunk into the room with the others and stepped out the door, looking around for a pay phone.  
  
He used the last of his muggle money to call the Dursleys, bracing for the berating that was coming. However, after far too many rings, the answering machine picked up and a plan sprung into Harry's head. “Hello, Uncle and Aunt. There was a problem with the bus this morning and I don't have enough fare to get home tonight, so I'll be staying here and getting on the train to school tomorrow. I have all my school supplies and uniforms, so there's nothing I really need at home and this will save you the bus fare for tomorrow. Thank you!” He clicked off, grinning. The unexpected treat of not having to see his uncle or aunt for the next few months completely overrode the worry about where he'd sleep. It wasn't too bad – as long as he could find a quiet corner to hole up in, the overlarge sweater would make a good pillow and it wouldn't be the first time he'd slept outside, after all.

  



	5. Chapter 5

He thought about the previous day as he headed up the street towards Kings Cross. Though he'd been quiet and terrified at first, tagging along at the back of the group and doing his best to avoid the notice of both the irritated wizard leading the group and the gawking, rambunctious other children, the sheer novelty of having money to spend on things _for himself_ was enough to make the uncomfortable company completely worth it. The wizard leading the group had, prudently, started the tour with the stores that held the absolute essentials – wands, robes, textbooks, and utter basics like quills, ink, cauldrons, and potions ingredients – and only then moved on to other useful but not necessary items, making sure no student managed to purchase an expensive owl with money that should have gone for books. At first, Harry had been worried about how far his money would stretch and whether it would be enough to cover everything, but at the last stop of the afternoon, Eeylops Owl Emporium, he'd realized, shocked, that he still had as much left over as most of the rest of the students had started with. 

“Listen up! Don't harass the animals – if you get bitten, scratched, or otherwise injured, not only will I have no sympathy but you'll be returning home to your parents with a disciplinary letter before school even begins. As this is the last stop of the afternoon and the choice of an owl is a rather personal one, we'll have a bit more time for you all to explore the shop. Don't make me regret that! Finally, if you can't afford an owl, never fear. The school has plenty of owls available for you to use during the school year and it is certainly not required that you have a personal one.” The wizard proceeded to take a seat on a small bench outside the door, rubbing his temples and pulling out a crossword puzzle as the children swarmed into the shop.

Harry looked around the darkened shop in awe. The rustles and hoots of all the owls filled the air and as he wandered through the tight, cramped rows, trailing his fingers past the bases of the cages, he made up his mind. He hadn't been planning on getting an owl – the idea of spending money for something nonessential, for himself, was an incredibly foreign concept to him. But he had the money to do so – it was obvious, now, that his parents had made sure to allot enough for him to get one, even if he'd bought more expensive school supplies. He took his time, slowly observing and examining all the owls until, at last, he walked out with a beautiful snowy white named Hedwig. As he fed her owl treats and cooed to her, trailing at the end of the group, a small, rare smile crossed his face.

\---

Now, though, he realized he had to hurry. Daydreaming about his owl and about almost a full year before he had to see the Dursleys again, he'd walked slower than he'd anticipated. Jogging into the station, he scanned the numbers, pausing between platform 9 and platform 10. The wizard had explained how to get into platform 9 ¾, but Harry was skeptical. Just run at the platform divider? It sounded like the pranks he'd seen Dudley's gang play on newer kids, convincing them to do something amusingly stupid (and probably painful) and then laughing themselves sick. Harry lurked, anxiously watching the time and wondering if he should just go ahead or risk being late for the train, when a gaggle of loud, redheaded children appeared. Harry kept his eye on them and saw how they pushed through the divider without a second thought, so, screwing up his courage, he dashed through and did the same.

The Hogwarts Express gleamed and chugged in front of him. Harry quietly made his way around the edges, avoiding the knots of families wishing their children well and friends reuniting after the summer. As he grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage, the short, grinning woman who was watching the stack of muggleborn trunks caught his eye and beckoned him over to her. He approached her hesitantly, his eyes wary.

“Well now, boy, it looks like you'll be wanting to change into your robes sooner rather than later – you can't be wanting to make a first impression dressed like that, can you? I don't know what your parents were thinking, sending you here dressed like that!” The woman tsked, frowning down at the small boy from the stool she was perched on.

Harry flushed, remembering the awkwardness that always came with the new, helpful teachers. Every year, /someone/ would question the state of his clothing, or see the tail of a bruise, and then...he shuddered slightly, thinking about the normal aftermath. Automatically, he began to deflect. “Ah, no, really, it's alright, I spilled something on my good clothes and this was all I had to change in a hurry this morning, really, it's ok...” he trailed off, looking nervously up at the woman.

The woman shook her head, but pointed to the nearest car. “If you hurry, you can go ahead and change into your robes there and I'll watch your things so you don't block up the path to the loo.”

Harry thanked her, ducking his head and quickly pulling out the first set of robes that came to his hand. He scampered over to the car and ducked inside the loo, quickly changing out of his beat-up hand-me-downs and into the currently unmarked school robes, breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe this year, he wouldn't spend the first day of classes being stared at and mocked for his “unusual fashion sense”. Hurrying back over, he thanked the waiting woman and then once more headed for the train cars.

No sooner than he'd gotten on the train then the whistle sounded and he felt the train speed off beneath him. Trailing his way through the cars, he looked in vain for an empty compartment, finally sighing in defeat – he was just going to have to face the music and hope whoever he joined would be content to just ignore him.

\---

After making his way almost halfway back up the train, he finally spotted a compartment that looked likely, with no signs of house colored robes on the three quietly talking boys occupying it. Hesitantly, Harry pulled open the door, freezing as the three boys turned to stare at him, breaking off their conversation.

Harry blushed and ducked his head, avoiding eye contact and pointing to the seat by the door, away from where the current occupants were sitting. “Er, hi, sorry to bother you, just, ah, is that seat taken?”

The smallest of the other boys stood up, one blonde eyebrow arching cockily. “Depends on who you are – I don't recognize you. What's your name?”

Harry eyed the boys warily. “Ah, my name's Harry Potter...”he trailed off as the blonde boy nodded.

“That would be why I don't recognize you, then. My name's Draco Malfoy, and this is Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle. Did you really have to grow up being raised by Muggles?”

Harry had no idea what to do with the first part of that statement, but he decided he didn't care enough to keep standing in the doorway so he headed into the compartment, stowed his trunk, and sat down as far away from the other boys as possible. “Er well, my aunt and uncle aren't magical at all, and my parents died when I was a baby, so I didn't even know about this world until I turned eleven.”

Draco's face was horrified and Crabbe and Goyle looked as concerned as was possible. “You _didn't know about_ MAGIC? How did you survive? That must have been HORRIBLE!”

Harry smiled slightly. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Draco stood up and struck a dramatic pose. “This is a travesty! Harry, with that kind of background, you're almost certain to get sorted into Hufflepuff and _never_ learn any better!”

Harry looked alarmed, even though he had no idea what the boy in front of him was going on about, but it didn't sound good – most attempts to “make him learn better” usually consisted of unpleasant, painful “lessons”, he'd learned that all too well.

Draco walked over and stuck out his hand. “Don't worry, Harry. Just stick with us, and I'll teach you everything you need to know so you don't end up wasting away in Hufflepuff. I don't think I could bear to see someone get sorted that direction just because they didn't know what was what! Come on over here and we'll explain it all.”

Harry looked at the outstretched hand suspiciously, then, hesitantly, he took it and shook it solidly. “Alright, Draco, if you're sure...”

“Absolutely. I don't know why they even leave wizarding children with Muggles, seriously, it's such a waste of the first years of life!”

Harry grinned and scooted down the seat, joining Draco across from Crabbe and Goyle. He shook the other boy's hands as well, then Draco took hold of the conversation again. "Alright, so here's what you need to know _right now_ , before we get to Hogwarts...”

The train sped along on it's way to Scotland as Harry, in wonder, listened to Draco's eleven year old's version of what was need to know information to survive the magical world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH hey! I updated this! I'm really sorry, it's been, well, a year. A ridiculous year. But I have another chapter brewing for this, and another chapter for the other fic I've started because I needed something to shake myself up, and maybe this year will be the year of things posted on a real schedule?


End file.
